Godric's Beaten Path
by Missiworld
Summary: Several short stories about various people who visit the ruins of the Potter home in order to add their sentiments onto the monument.


**Godric's Beaten Path**

It was later than I remembered when I pulled onto the beaten road in my rusted truck, parking near the ruins of a gate and possibly the house hidden behind years of overgrowth. The tiny town of Godric's Hollow was sleeping by this time, or at least the respectable and old had to be. And I suppose that that made me one of the disrespectful; one of the criminals of the night.

But I wasn't here to start trouble of any kind. I was here to not be seen, and the accidental lateness was doing nothing but helping in my invisibility. Sitting in my truck, I wondered if anyone was about, watching, lurking in the shadows. Each house was quiet, still, dark. Nobody hiding behind the bushes; nobody creeping in the yellowed walls of the houses next to me. The only people that would be about would be those leaving a church service across from town, far away from this place.

Perfect.

I slowly stepped out from the truck, tugging my cloak around my small middle and whispering _lumos_ under my breath. The wand beneath my cloak lit, revealing a small light to guide me. I had to admit that the spell was a risk, but worth it in order to not trip on the icy, wet snow. I simply promised myself that I wouldn't cast any more spells, just to make up for it.

A few steps down a path connected to the beaten road led me directly to the wrought iron gate. Ivy and thistles grew in spirals around rusted spokes and creaking hinges, but wilting flowers blended in. They were flowers picked purposely for this spot, left maybe only a day before judging on the wilting compared to the bitter cold and snow.

Around the flowers were metal plaques, covered with an inch of snow. I lifted a gloved hand to brush it away and read the surface, but a layer of jagged ice sat underneath the wet snow, leaving only a few words uncovered: _On this spot, on the night of 31… Lily and… Their son…of the violence…apart their family_... It was a shame, not being able to see all of it; I'd been planning this trip for a while, and it was disappointing to not get the full experience.

Still, I didn't let it get me down too terribly bad. Written on patches devoid of snow were messages etched by spells and Everlasting Ink.

_Good luck, Harry, wherever you are._

_We're rooting for you Harry. Don't give up._

_If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you._

_Long live Harry Potter!_

My fingers traced along the etches, feeling the power of the messages from people before me. Pulling my hand back, I reached into my cloak for the marker that I had brought with me. Slowly, I popped the cap off and thought about what I would write. Nothing seemed appropriate or meaningful enough. How could I say that, should the Dark Lord have not died that very night, my family would have died within the next few days? How could I relay my thanks? Silently, I tapped out some words, pausing to make up my mind about what would come next until I had finished a sentence.

_God Bless the Potters and the sacrifices they have made in the fight against the evils of this world._

I stood in front of what I had wrote, shifting my weight from foot to foot, inhaling deeply, thinking about the odds of Harry Potter actually seeing my message. It would wear away after only a few weeks with this snow and no magic, but it was worth writing, and I felt all the better for placing my addition to the monument.

A few moments passed as I stared at what I had written, and only the intense cold carried me back down the path and to my rusted, old truck. I grasped the keys from my pocket and started the engine, pulling away from the ruins of Godric's Hollow and down to the main part of town and back home a half-hour away.

I turned on the heat as I drove along, getting onto a nicer patch of pavement before passing the monument of the Potters hidden in a war memorial of the town. Nearby, the church was ending its service, and an older couple was leaving the snow-covered cemetery beside the church. And, as the light fell from the stained-glass onto their moving shapes, they caught my eye and quickly disappeared into the snowy night.


End file.
